


Evergreen

by Soup1039



Category: Evergreen(Personal Novel Fandom)
Genre: Angst, Dark and Depressing themes, Editor needed, Novel In Progress(WIP), not perverted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 14:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soup1039/pseuds/Soup1039
Summary: A story of how a man hardened by years of misfortune struggles to live his life normally, even when it seems fate is determined to take away everything he loves. Together with a new neighbor he'll find how to love, grow, and lose it all.





	Evergreen

**Author's Note:**

> To the few readers who will glance at this,
> 
> This is, as you know from the tags, a WIP. It's raw, with only me as the writer and editor. Before I allow you to read this mess of words that is an utter amalgamation of my thoughts, I would like to make some things clear, so you as the reader can begin with a fair knowledge of whats going on.  
> 1.) There is NO underage relationships at work here. Sameal and Sasha will NOT get together. That said, Sameal is NOT a pervert, but a man who is intentionally creepy and searching for a new lease on life.  
> 2.) Sameal will not date anyone in the novel, and will remain single. If you make fanfiction out of this work, feel free to, but I won't.  
> 3.) The spelling of Sameal is intentional and has meaning. It's one of the many easter eggs in this work.  
> 4.) Sameal DOES HAVE PTSD from his days of fighting(more on that later in the book). I've speculated with myself over whether or not it's a possibility to label his behaviors as schizophrenic(especially with his isolation, visions, as well as untamed aggression), but I don't wish to offend anyone struggling with that condition, as I've done research, but not enough to be conclusive over whether or not he has schizophrenia. I'd rather be safe then unintentionally offend anyone with my limited knowledge.

I closed my eyes and let out a breath, extending my arms in defeat. I felt time crawl to a stand still, and a sudden force propelled me to the asphalt below. But the Evergreen stood strong as the trees slowly fell around me.  
I let out a sigh before standing up off of the couch. My aching muscles protested with an almost incomprehensible crack, but in the deafening silence of the house the sound seemed to echo and find purchase in the walls. With a noise of annoyance, I rubbed my tired eyes and turned a knob to turn on the TV, my slender fingers grasping it firmly. The noise that resulted wasn’t enough to truly fill the empty void of sound in the house, but for now at least, it was. I padded to the kitchen, pulling a bowl out of the glass cabinets. Looking back up, I reached to take another and hesitated for a moment, before quickly grabbing it and murmuring an apology. The dishes clinked quietly as they connected with the counter, and I flinched at the noise before setting both bowls down. I took care to make sure they didn’t make a sound.  
As the pot of rice I was cooking on the stove bubbled with heat, I hovered over it, a wooden spoon grasped firmly in my hands. When it was done, I poured an exactly equal amount in each bowl and added the appropriate condiments: four drops of soy sauce in mine, and six with half a tablespoon of butter in the other, before placing them both at the table. It was set as it always had been, a single spoon on the left side of the bowls, covering a napkin. An old candle was lit between the two dishes, and one of the chairs pointed sideways. I absentmindedly adjusted the spoon beside my bowl before starting to eat quietly. I ate mechanically, in the same way and formation as I always did. I set the spoon to be resting on the edge of the bowl, carefully unwrapped the napkin and placed it in my lap. I held the spoon in my left hand like a pencil, took a large spoon of rice from the middle of the bowl, wiped the excess off with the edge, and placed it in my mouth before pulling it out without any evidence of the rice on it. I repeated this until the bowl was completely scraped clean, but I still took care to not make any noise with the spoon, even as I traced the edge of the dish. When I finished, I folded the napkin and stood, before pushing in my chair and grabbing the empty bowl with one hand. I glanced at the other, still full, bowl and sighed before picking it up as well. With a steady hand, I walked to the sink and thoroughly washed both dishes before replacing them in their previous position. I made sure everything was in its place, and gave the kitchen a through inspection before returning to my seat in the sofa and drifting into another light sleep.  
A knock interrupted my relative silence, just as an ironic laugh track erupted quietly from the TV. I cracked an eye open and sighed, before another staccato knock was placed on the door. I finally got up with another crack of my leg, opening the curtain slightly and peering out to see who had made the mistake of knocking: it was a child. To be more specific, a little girl no older than fourteen, hands placed in her jeans and rocking back and forth on her heels in little, well used and muddied, tennis shoes. Her hair was placed in two little pigtails, accented by periwinkle ribbons that complemented her white and baby blue blouse. She looked up and around the peeling porch before glancing over to see me and smiling warmly at my eye peeking out from the curtain. I sharply shut it again with a growl and returned to my seat, snuggling comfortably into the fabric. Another knock resounded through the house, and I gritted my teeth and clenched my eyes shut tighter in an attempt to make the girl to go away. There was a pause in the knocking, and I relaxed back into my seat, cracking my jaw slightly and letting my eyes creak open. I yelped and jumped in my seat as I saw the girl’s head peeking through the window, peering at me with a smile through the part in the curtains. Her deep blue eyes crinkled slightly, glistening with something I hadn’t seen for years. Something within me was dislodged by that girl’s look, and I felt drawn to the door to open it and let her into my life.  
My hand hovered expectantly over the knob of the door, waiting to make the connection that was only a fraction away. Then, out of at unexpected impulse, I gripped the doorknob firmly and ripped the door open. The girl jumped at my sudden energy, and I collected myself before calmly opening the screen door.  
“Hello,” I coughed nervously. “Um, hi. What do you need?”  
“I’m Sasha.” The girl ignored my question and simply extended a hand in greeting. The last time I’d heard that name was a long time ago, and it made me turn cold before freezing on the spot. “Mister? Sir? You ok?” She cocked her head questioningly, and a whole new wave of memories surfaced.  
“Yes. Uh, yes I am. Would you… like to come inside?” I shook her hand before hurriedly spitting out my words. I didn’t want the girl-Sasha, I corrected myself-to leave.  
“Sure,” it was said as a question, not a statement. Sasha craned her head to look around my frame that blocked the entrance, before glancing at the small wristwatch she had on her left wrist. It was navy blue, with the numbers engraved in a faintly glowing black, and the wrist strap was frayed and held together by a piece of worn duct tape. Sasha played with it with her right hand as she looked back up with a small nod. “I have… about three hours before I have to be home.” I finally stepped aside at her confirmation, a small nod accenting my decision. I normally wouldn’t let anyone into the house, but there was a small of part of me that I struggled to bury down inside of me for years that finally burrowed its way out into reality and spontaneously decided to make an appearance.  
Sasha whistled in admiration as she pulled her head around the house, glancing with a glisten in her eyes at everything the house proudly offered. I could almost feel Dina fluffing herself up for the rare and unexpected visitor, chuckling with a broad smile at Sasha’s astonishment. “Wow sir, I haven’t seen anything this old before. Where’d ya get all this stuff?” Sasha dragged a finger across the old maple cabinet in the doorway carefully, ending with a pause as she glanced back for confirmation that her action was alright by me.  
“Please, call me Sameul,” I waved my hand in an overly dramatic gesture of forgetfulness, and chuckled slightly to make Sasha more comfortable. “I’ve collected these items over the course of my life, little mementos of my travels.” I patted the old cabinet forlornly, glancing at it fondly. “This one I made myself, for my wife.”  
“Wow, you’re really good… Never had the patience for woodworking or anything else along those lines. I’m more of a fast-paced, fast reward kind of girl,” Sasha paused in thought, lips pursing for a moment . “Like in cooking: you’re constantly running about making sure everything’s timed right, and then you get a good reward if you did well.”  
“Well,” I started with a low grumble in my voice. “When you have all the time in the world,” I nearly chuckled at the irony of the statement I just made, “there’s no reason to rush.”  
Sasha turned to me, away from the self portrait I had done a few years back when I had went through a painting phase; it was one of me when I was younger, right after Dina had died. “That’s a nice perspective Mr.Sameul. I wish I could think like that, pretend that nothing's going to end and I can just enjoy it, but somehow the only thing I can think of is how short my time is.” Sasha shrugged with a sigh, “...But, c'est la vie, I suppose.”  
We walked around the house in silence, Sasha carrying her dirtied shoes in her left hand as she seemed to glide across the wooden floors. My feet were much heavier, making my footsteps resound throughout the house even as I attempted to stay quiet for Dina’s sake. There was an old painting of the old Sasha I had hidden in the corner of the dining room, allowing it to collect dust as I couldn’t face myself and resurface the memories of her. Unfortunately, New Sasha spotted it almost immediately as she marveled at my small collection of clocks; again ironic, as I had no reason to worry about time because I would last far longer than these clocks could ever run, but I still kept them as company when the house grew too quiet.  
“Who’s this?” Sasha questioned, squatting down to get eye level with Old Sasha. “She looks a little like me,” she turned to me with a smile, “don’t you think so Sam?” I blinked rapidly, remembering how Dina used to teasingly call me that while she read her book in the old sofa, referencing me to some far-away book character from her stories… and that smile, it was as if old Sasha was right here with me, white teeth grinning with genuine happiness and enjoyment.  
I coughed, running a hand through my thinning hair.“Her name was Sasha, and I loved her dearly,” I started, voice barely louder than a whisper. Sasha looked at me in surprise, and gave a silent motion for me to continue. I sighed then, and squinted my eyes some. It had been sometime since I tried to remember her, and I was perfectly happy to keep it that way; that was until New Sasha had asked. “I watched her grow up from my window. She moved in across the street,” I gestured towards the ramshackled house directly across from my own. It was long abandoned, the front door rusting off of its hinge, vines creeping up the broken walls. Old Sasha’s family moved out after the incident. “When she was only an infant. She grew up around me, but never even knew I was there. Sasha… was an angel in every sense of the word, or as much as one could be in this world,” I shook my head slightly. “When she was younger, about three or four, I remember she ran into the road to save a lost duckling. Then when she was ten, she broke up a fight right outside her house; never hurt the kid or even touched them, just talked it out. She couldn’t stand to see anyone unhappy, it would tear her apart.” I sighed and finished quietly, “and in the end, that was her downfall.” Sasha looked at me, intrigued. She looked exactly like the old Sasha I remembered, complete with the same deep blue eyes, same dark blond hair. It was like the same person, and that was the worst part: I’d spent so many years trying to forget her, and here she was again.  
“What happened to her?”  
I rubbed my tired eyes, and looked away. “I don’t know,” I lied. Sasha raised an eyebrow suspiciously, and I harshly stood. “You have to go. I have matters to attend to.” I half shoved and lead her outside the house, closing the door and leaning on it, breathing heavily. It was a stretch to allow myself to think about Old Sasha, and talking about her would open far too many old wounds for me to handle.  
I walked into the living room, practically collapsing into the sofa. With a sigh, I tried to lock my eyes shut and hopefully drift into sleep to pretend everything that had happened was just a dream, but nothing came but calloused memories that had surfaced because of the New Sasha’s visit. My fingers nearly drilled holes into the fabric from my incessant tapping on the wood.  
Even a mug of chamomile didn’t help, my mind too far wound to allow me to relax, and it was only after I had nearly fell into a restless sleep did an almost godly idea visit me. I sat up straight and ground the palms of my hands against my eyes, a small smile reaching my lips. I can fix things, I thought. There’s a reason why this new girl is named Sasha, and maybe, just maybe, I can make amends by friending her. There was only one issue in my plan: I had to actually get her to come over. The most I stepped outside of my home was once a week to go to the nearby grocery for the essentials that I knew I would need for meals, and even that was a stretch if it lasted more than a hour. People brung memories, and memories brought pain that I could easily avoid just by staying home.  
I eventually decided to take the most direct, and efficient, route to bring the New Sasha back: knocking on her door to ask. I changed into an ironed button-down, dusted off my khakis, and shined my black flats before standing in front of the mirror to add my tie. I turned to go, before I could feel Dina hovering over my shoulder, nit picking my tie placement, so I adjusted it to make her happy.  
New Sasha’s house was across the street from mine, and if you were standing at the front of my home it was to the left of the Old Sasha’s house. As I walked up the driveway, placing my hands in my pockets, I started to notice all of the little quirks that made the house unique. There were light yellow curtains nearly the color of muted lemon drops, planters and perennials that had colored pastel buds-they would bloom soon and bring spring with them; I knew from Dina’s gardening days-accented by obviously fresh mulch.  
While I side stepped childish chalk drawings in my ambling towards the door I didn’t notice any cars outside, but I assumed they were in the garage that stood to the left of the house. I carefully stepped onto a well-used welcome mat brandishing, of course, the word ‘welcome’ in cursive lettering before rapping my knuckles twice on the door. A younger man, possibly around his late twenties and early thirties answered, and I could smell some kind of soup wafting into the outside where I stood. His eyes were a deep nutmeg, a slight hint of a 5 o'clock shadow on his chin, hair thinning on the sides if you looked long enough.  
“Yes?” He leaned on the door, looking back at something for a moment before rubbing his eyes and glancing back at me.  
I stuck out a hand, taking a play from New Sasha’s book of social conduct. He didn’t return the the gesture, but I still kept my arm tightly wound out in front of me. “I’m Sameul, from across the street,” I gestured to my home idly, and the man peered behind me for a moment to scrutinize it with his eyes before settling back on the doorway. “I believe your daughter N-,” with a cough, I dismissed my misstep in conversation as just allergies, or another minor ailment that I couldn’t think of in the moment. “Sasha visited me earlier today..?” What I assumed to be her father reached out and finally took my hand, squeezing it for a second with his softer, smaller, one before retreating his arm back to his side. It was only then that my hand came down, and even then it was mechanical, as if I were an old tin soldier that Dina moved the parts on.  
“Andrew. She told me all about you when she came home, wouldn’t stop babbling about all your old antiques and bobbles.We’re about to eat dinner though, so I have to go.” Andrew went to close the door, but I pulled the cliche move of sticking my hand in where it would close.  
“I know you have more important things to do,but could you please tell her she’s welcome to come over anytime? Ever since my wife died, I don’t have much company.” Andrew’s face softened, and nodded. I ran a hand through my hair in nervousness as he looked me up and down.  
“I’m sorry for your loss, and I’ll be sure to tell her you were by,” he stated stiffly. I could tell he wanted to leave, so I stepped back and waved to signal the end of our conversation.  
“Thank you, have a good evening,” I stood up straight, and made a minor adjustment to my tie.  
“Bye,” the door closed with a single word, and I couldn’t help feeling as if I was a postman and Andrew was a small child coming to receive the package. His simplicity was both a welcome thing, and somehow yet another mixed message from New Sasha’s family. On one hand, I was able to limit my first out of home social contact to less then two minutes, but on the other I didn’t want to seem as if I was rushing the conversation to just try and bring New Sasha over like a pedophile. I stepped off the doorstep, chewing the inside of my mouth, and as I briskly walked across the street towards my home, Dina chewed me out. She’d started to talk about a week before the New Sasha’s appearance, and had steadily grew in volume until her squawking comments couldn’t be ignored anymore. Dina was like a bird, pecking at me annoyingly with my mistakes, and I grumbled as I remembered what it was like when she was alive and would nit-pick until I was picture perfect every morning.  
I unlocked the door to my home with the key in my khakis, and left it to hang open while I threw the key somewhere on the cabinet and collapsed into the sofa with a grumble, closing my eyes to escape Dina’s verbal assault. I must of fallen asleep, for when I woke the buildup of Dina’s criticisms hit me in full force, overwhelming me like a great typhoon of words.Sameul your shirts unbuttoned at the top, fix it. Sameul close the door it’s getting cold. Sameulplace thekeys onthe ring,you’ll losethem. Sameulit’salmosttime forsupperturn thestoveonforaroast. Sameulsitdown andcalmdowndon’tworkyourselfupdearyouknowyou’regettingolderSameulit’stimeto applyforrveteranscoverageSameulthedoors ringingansweritSame-I held my head in my hands, feeling Dina’s words swirling and blending all around me. It’d been so so long since I’d heard her voice, and maybe now I should reach out to her, but I couldn’t because of Him, and memories that have been left untouched for so long they’re not bearable to even look at it-and the doors ringing. There was an altering sound of knocking and the small chime of the doorbell, and I stood up, stumbling to the door to rip it open. New Sasha stood there, and my eyes widened at her as I tried to fix my crinkled shirt and messed up hair to no avail. She touched my arm, and I looked up, seeming like a wild animal caught in a trap as I jerked my arm away at the foreign touch. Dina used to touch me like that; I shook my head at the thought and stood up straighter.  
“Sameul, are you ok?” New Sasha’s voice was so calm and quiet, like the nurse from all those decades ago, and I swallowed the lump in my throat along with the surfacing memories and nodded shakily.  
“Yes, I’m sorry. Would you like a cup of tea, or coffee? Water?” I shuffled to the kitchen, calling behind me and rustling through the cabinets. “There’s hot chocolate, Kool-Aid, chamomile, dark roast coffee,” I rambled on about all my various drinks that I hadn’t gotten to use as I pulled them out on the counter.  
“Hot chocolate is fine,” New Sasha picked up the box and pulled out a packet before setting it down on the cluttered counter. I carefully closed it, just as it was, and stopped my hand in mid air as I went to put it back in the cabinet; There’ll be time for that later, I chided, putting the container of hot chocolate back down. My thoughts distracted themselves automatically, and I remembered the kettle for tea was located underneath the counter, deep within a small cupboard that was almost hidden from sight, save for a small knob to open it. New Sasha peered over my shoulder as I quickly crouched down and rustled through it, and I was nearly arm deep within the cupboard before she decided to speak.  
“Are you sure you should be exerting yourself like that Sameul? I don't want you to hurt yourself,” New Sasha leaned even more, standing precariously on the edge of her toes. My heart skipped a beat as I snapped my head around to look at her, and as we locked eyes New Sasha’s flickered with fear for but a moment, quickly returning to their normal sparkle I was oh so familiar with. With every second that New Sasha stayed at my home I could feel long-buried memories of Dina and Old Sasha resurfacing, something I had struggled to keep down for as long as possible. It didn’t help that New Sasha seemed to be unknowingly taking every page possible from their books either.  
“Y-yes,” I stumbled, finally finding the kettle and standing up. I had already scared New Sasha off once, and I didn’t want to do it again-I’d already tempted fates  
by not allowing her to disappear out of my life and not letting history repeat itself again.  
New Sasha stared at me as I shuffled to the sink and pumped the pedal to get water from the well, cocking her head again like a bird to try and understand the somehow foreign concept of a pump-sink, as I’d always called them. When I placed the now full kettle on the range and lit the burner, her curiosity only grew. It was nearly palpable in the already suffocating room. New Sasha only peeped up about the appliances after I had started to put away the mixes in the order that they were in, and I nearly dropped one at the unexpected loudness of her voice.  
“Why do you have such an old kitchen?”  
I mentally scrabbled for an answer, grasping at the first thought that had almost dinged itself into my head with its suddenness.  
“Payed off the house years ago, never upgraded,” I glanced over at her as I racked the final container of tea into the cupboard, thankful for an excuse to not look her in the eye.  
“But this stuff is old, like really old. I understand not having a computer, or a cellphone, or WiFi, but that sink pump is positively antiquated.” New Sasha desperately gestured at the sink, glancing at it oddly as evidence for her argument. Instead of answering, I closed the cabinet and busied myself with pouring the powdered hot chocolate into a navy blue mug. It had been one of Dina’s favorites, particularly in the cold winter months when she’d compare the color to “Aurora Borealis,” or some other rare hue that you saw once in a lifetime.  
I realized I had been grasping the mug for far longer then I should of, deep in memories and different shades of blue, and it was only when the kettle started to whistle shrilly did I snap back to reality. While I poured the water into the cup and stirred the hot chocolate-again, careful not to allow the spoon to collide with the edges and have even minuscules amounts of powder that didn’t dissolve- I finally let out a breath I had been holding for far too long to answer New Sasha’s nearly forgotten question. “I don’t know,” I stated, considering telling her that I simply didn’t have enough time to upgrade, but that was even a stretch for me, so I fabricated a cloth made of lies out of thin air instead. “This was my great-grandfather's house. He bought it in the early 1950’s, when he was in his mid thirties, then passed it down until eventually I received it from my father. We don’t change anything to honor his memory; it’s a good reminder of him, even after death.” The spoon let out a small clang as it crashed into the side of the mug, and I winced at the noise before removing the utensil and handing the cup off to New Sasha. She took it, blew on it but for a moment, and finally took a deep sip while I washed the spoon and kettle, replacing them both where they had been earlier.  
Another aching silence filled the void between New Sasha and I, and again, like clockwork, she spoke first. But this time there was a sigh preceding her words.  
“Sameul,” I straightened as though I had been poked by a burning steel rod, and I prepared myself for Dina’s onslaught of appearances in New Sasha’s words to come. “Are you sure you’re alright? There seems to be something wrong, and I can’t quite place my finger on it,” New Sasha looked at me with such ferocity that I could feel her gaze burning a hole into the side of my head, and I tried to busy myself with mechanically cleaning the stove. My whole body jerked away when I felt New Sasha’s arm barely grazing my own, and I finally resigned to respond to her question by nodding my head. Like a puppet on a set of strings, my mouth opened of its own accord and started to say words that weren’t my own-Dina’s maybe, but certainly not mine.  
“Yes. Just a bit too much coffee this morning.. I think I might’ve made it just a tad stronger then usual, don’t you think?” I laughed automatically, and as I turned to New Sasha her eyes glinted with suspicion before she smiled wide in response, a metaphorical Cheshire Cat playing the part of someone ignorant. Her performance was so great I couldn’t help but fall for the act, even as I knew it was just a mask to her real personality.  
“My mom did that once,” New Sasha chuckled. “Had three cups before she realized her mistake, and by then it was too late. She was off like a firecracker for eight hours, then crashed for sixteen, and woke up looking like a hungover badger… Don’t tell her I said that though, she’d kill me,” New Sasha laughed again, a clear ringing sound that hit my ears with eager familiarity. Even when she wasn’t speaking, it seemed that Dina and Old Sasha managed to appear in New Sasha, whether through her actions or considerate gestures, or something else I hadn’t thought of until that moment entirely.  
Our previous conversation had begun and ended like a fire: burning bright for but a moment, and fizzling out just as quickly. When the new one started, I was glad that the warmth of New Sasha’s words had returned. They had become nearly addictive to me.  
“It’s good,” New Sasha finally noted after a brief moment of silence, pointing to her now half empty mug of hot chocolate before setting it down. It hit with a small noise, one that made me grit my teeth to prevent my wincing at the sound.  
I smiled widely, cocking my head slightly to the side to emphasize the ambience of playfulness that I was trying to give off. “Well, I’m just glad it wasn’t expired. I don’t want you to get food poisoning,” I chuckled. New Sasha took a long gulp of the hot chocolate before standing up with the mug, grasping it firmly with both hands.  
“Where do you want this? I can clean it, since I’m done.” My eyes shot to the cup, automatically reaching out with a calloused palm to take it.  
“It’s a, um,” I cleared my voice, trying to generate an explanation out of thin air in the small time my cough gave me. “It’s a special cup. It needs to be washed differently. Here, I’ll take it for you.” The sentences came out wrong; I knew that as soon as they had left my mouth, and my tongue tasted metallic and of regret from my mistake. I pursed my lips in displeasure, and a small voice in the back of my head quietly chastised me. “See Samael? This is why we should keep to ourselves. The girls given you a second chance, but you threw it away. There won’t be a third opportunity to make things right. I thought you learned that decades ago.” I shook my head, waving off the incessant words and purse of my lips. New Sasha squinted her eyes at me, and my heart skipped a beat as I felt Dina and Old Sasha glaring at me from behind those now steel gray pupils.  
“Samael, are you sure you don’t want me to clean the mug for you? You look faint; I don’t want you to get hurt over a silly thing like hot chocolate,” New Sasha looked me in the eyes, concern weaving through every word as she gently gripped my shoulder. Like an enemy from a war, New Sasha had thrown an entirely new weapon at me, and the men of my memories army was helpless to resist. I thought I had prepared for the worst, for every sentence that could’ve possibly been concocted by my long lost comrades, for everything that could’ve been thrown at me, but I hadn’t. I froze in place, standing completely still and locked in one position for a second before almost ripping the mug out of New Sasha’s hands, turning my back to her, and washing it carefully. This time, the flame that was our conversation didn’t ignite itself for a long time, and even when it did, it was far more fragile then before.


End file.
